Sandra Belloni — Volume 7 eBook

“I am the only protector of my sister’s
reputation,” said Wilfrid, “and, by heaven!
if you have cast her over to be the common talk, you
shall meet me.”

The captain turned to his horse, saying, “Oh!
Well!” Being mounted, he observed: “My
dear Pole, you might have sung out all you had to say.
Go to your sister, and if she complains of my behaviour,
I’ll meet you. Oh, yes! I’ll
meet you; I have no objection to excitement.
You’re in the hands of an infernally clever
woman, who does me the honour to wish to see my blood
on the carpet, I believe; but if this is her scheme,
it’s not worthy of her ability. She began
pretty well. She arranged the preliminaries
capitally. Why, look here,” he relinquished
his ordinary drawl; “I’ll tell you something,
which you may put down in my favour or not—­just
as you like. That woman did her best to compromise
your sister with me on board the yacht. I can’t
tell you how, and won’t. Of course, I
wouldn’t if I could; but I have sense enough
to admire a very charming person, and I did the only
honourable thing in my power. It’s your
sister, my good fellow, who gave me my dismissal.
We had a little common sense conversation—­in
which she shines. I envy the man that marries
her, but she denies me such luck. There! if you
want to shoot me for my share in that transaction,
I’ll give you your chance: and if you do,
my dear Pole, either you must be a tremendous fool,
or that woman’s ten times cleverer than I thought.
You know where to find me. Good night.”

The captain gave heel to his horse, hearing no more.

Adela confirmed to Wilfrid what Gambier had spoken;
and that it was she who had given him his dismissal.
She called him by his name, “Augustus,”
in a kindly tone, remarking, that Lady Charlotte had
persecuted him dreadfully. “Poor Augustus!
his entire reputation for evil is owing to her black
paint-brush. There is no man so easily ‘hooked,’
as Mrs. Bayruffle would say, as he, though he has
but eight hundred a year: barely enough to live
on. It would have been cruel of me to keep him,
for if he is in love, it’s with Emilia.”

Wilfrid here took upon himself to reproach her for
a certain negligence of worldly interests. She
laughed and blushed with humorous satisfaction; and,
on second thoughts, he changed his opinion, telling
her that he wished he could win his freedom as she
had done.

“Wilfrid,” she said suddenly, “will
you persuade Cornelia not to wear black?”

“Yes, if you wish it,” he replied.

“You will, positively? Then listen, dear.
I don’t like the prospect of your alliance
with Lady Charlotte.”

Wilfrid could not repress a despondent shrug.

“But you can get released,” she cried;
and ultimately counselled him: “Mention
the name of Lord Eltham before her once, when you are
alone. Watch the result. Only, don’t
be clumsy. But I need not tell you that.”